The Hardest Words Are Spoken Softly
by viktories
Summary: Post-6.12. Caryl. The scene I would have like to see following Carol kissing Tobin. My first fanfic. M for language, concepts, smut later. Updating genre from "Angst" to "Hurt/Comfort" which seems more appropriate.
1. Chapter 1

The Hardest Words Are Spoken Softly

"What. THE. FUCK."

She'd barely gotten through the door, it was still half open and she knew his voice would carry out to the street. She slammed the door behind her and stood pressed up against it, warily. She trusted him with her life, no question, but she'd also never seen him this angry before. Ever. She shrank before that kind of rage, even as she steeled herself for it.

He paced around the room, barreling through anything in his path and the knickknacks of suburban decor were falling around him in the wake of his fury. She hated all of the _things_ that filled every space in Alexandria, all the useless detritus of a world that couldn't keep its shit together when things went bad. One unnaturally cold winter and they could burn all of it for fuel.

He was still yelling but her mind has wandered again. That had been happening a lot lately, this inability to focus in the moment, and she'd be worried about it if she could find the energy to care.

"Of all the people? Him? HIM? One of the most useless of all the useless fucks in this place? Why, Carol? WHY?" She could barely keep her eyes open. It was so exhausting to try to answer him, it required too much effort to try to formulate the words that she should say. Her eyes shut, the lids too heavy to maintain a state of openness.

He was on her like a flash, her silence and impassivity only fueling his rage. His fist crashed into the wood next to her head, making her jump. Eyes open now. She found herself wishing he'd aimed better, she never had to worry about drifting into complacency when Ed was around. He continued his tirade about the overall incompetence of the Alexandria folk, but Tobin especially was nothing but a fucking meatbag waiting for the right walker to eat his face. His stupid fucking face. It went on for a while. She waited until his own exhaustion caught up with him and he just ran down. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

He'd looked at her in a million ways in the years they'd been together, a million fucking stories that she once upon a time tried to read in his eyes. She gave up eventually, not even sure when she just let it go and became glad for what it was. No questions anymore about "what if?" or "what did that mean?," the two of them just _were_ like the sun and the moon. But the look he gave her now when she whispered "why do you care who I kiss?" was one of sheer disgust, something she hadn't seen since back on the farm. Not from him, at least. He glared at her, lip curled, turned his back and left the room. She was certain that if she hadn't been blocking the door he'd have walked out on her, maybe forever this time.

That, she felt. _That_ broke through the quicksand she'd been sinking into, so close to swallowing her up. The idea that he could, and _would_ , leave her alone again to die a little each day in this place. THAT made her angry.

She stomped after him down the short hallway that separated his room from the rest of the downstairs, twisting the door handle and flinging it open to crash against the wall. No knock, not a whispered "can I come in?" at the door this time. There's no expectations of privacy in a fight.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with elbows on his knees and his arms cradling his head as he shook with…tears? She didn't run to him to make it better. She didn't kneel down by his feet, hug him to her, offer words of comfort and the balm of human touch. They'd always been that to each other but her anger kept her rooted in place. It wasn't the bright, hot kind of anger that burned itself out between heartbeats, tempering their bond layer by layer over time, no this was darker, deeper. Corrosive. Something that ate away at her from the inside, weakening what made them _them_ , whatever it was that had snaked out and caught them up over the handle of a pick axe and bound them together, tight, over a flower and a doll.

"What was I thinking? I'll tell you exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking that no man had looked at me like that, with desire in his eyes, since well before the world went to shit." He suppressed a snort. Plenty had, but he had nipped that shit in the bud. "I was thinking I am still a living, breathing human woman, and I have needs no different than anyone else. And sometimes I even think I deserve some attention, some goddamn _affection_ , that maybe someone might want to touch me on occasion without making me feel like a dog being tossed a bone." He winced. If he made her feel that way? - even if he didn't mean to do it - it was like a punch to the gut.

His pain, his grief… _good_ she thought, unconsciously, and shuddered in horror at this monster emerging from the pit of her soul, growing there and gaining strength, while she had been sleepwalking through survival.

She slumped, eyes closing of their own accord. She knew, without question, that things could never go back to what they had been between them. She could walk away now and they'd keep going, their relationship unchanged on the surface but rotten underneath. But he'd have his life back and she'd have hers. It would be easy. It would keep the walls in place. He'd never again have the right to look at her like that, to judge her like that, she'd be free of the last chain holding her here. Even if her body stayed, her soul would be unfettered, her survival a choice.

Or, she could stay, do whatever needed to be done to make him feel loved again, make him feel like someone chose him over all the rest. Like he deserved to be chosen over all the rest. And she would slowly die inside when he didn't do the same. When he chose others over her. When he kept leaving her behind. When he looked at other women, other _girls_ , with an appreciation and interest that he never directed at her. _But that was only natural, only right_ the monster whispered. _You aren't the kind of woman that inspires men's fantasies, especially not someone like him. That's insane! You aren't_ his _kind of woman._

It seemed fitting that her love, her desire, was a monster from the pit ready to devour her up. If she freed it, it would destroy the only relationship that had ever mattered besides her baby girl. There really was no choice. He deserved her love, he deserved whatever he needed from her. She didn't have a right to deny it to him, even if it left her empty and alone. Her anger crawled backwards, sunk back into the hole inside her. She opened her eyes, ready to do whatever was necessary to keep that creature contained.

He was staring at her. Watching her. _Seeing_ her. "STOP," was all he said.

He never had problems reading her. Carol broadcasted all her emotions, hell all her _thoughts_ , in the quirk of her mouth and her big blue eyes. First time he realized that maybe it was just him who spoke "Carol" was back at the quarry. Shane was talking shit about how some women just couldn't give up on a man, give up on love, until that love killed them. Daryl couldn't believe they were talking about the same woman, looking at the same face… What he saw was desperation, tamped-down rage, and a woman trapped in an ugly situation in an uglier world. There was no love, not when she looked at Ed. There was no hope there.

Then or later, she didn't need to talk for him to know what she was saying. One look at her face and he knew exactly where she stood on matters, and since that tended to follow his line of thinking, she became a thermometer for his read of any situation even before they had spoken more than a few words to each other. The difficult twists and turns of polite society were outside his realm of experience, but Carol's face gave him a map, directions, a fuckin' GPS to figure out what was going on underneath. That's why he stared at her all the time, he told himself, _I'm just lookin' for guidance._ It gave him an excuse, up until he realized every other soul around saw through that shit…with the possible exception of the woman he couldn't ever seem to take his eyes off of.

In the quarry, he thought he wanted her approval. Her respect. She was smarter than any other person he'd ever met, certainly smarter than any of the dumb motherfuckers in that camp, and she was genuinely good. For just a quick second she reminded him of his own mother, at least how he chose to remember her. His mom kept her hair cut shorter than a man's too, so his pop didn't have anything extra to catch hold of. But haircut or not, that comparison didn't last long at all. She was too young, too pretty, and too sweet. She always thanked him for any little thing he did, for her or for any of them, and it made him want to do more just to hear her soft voice say his name. "Thank you, Daryl," she'd say, too low for her husband to hear, holding her daughter against her like she was teaching Sophia the right way to be: how to be classy, how to be a lady. And she'd smile at him, that wide, beautiful smile, while looking straight into his eyes so he knew she meant it. No matter if smiling would crack open cuts on her lips or crinkle the skin around her swollen eyes in a way that was painful to look at, she'd say "thank you, Daryl" and he'd warm up inside. Damn if it didn't make him feel like he could take on the world.

Every time she said his name he promised himself that soon, _soon_ , he'd step up and rescue her from that asshole husband of hers. He liked thinking about it, thought about it more and more the longer he and Merle lived in that camp, all the various ways he'd rescue her from whatever threat was bearin' down on her or Sophia. He thought about how she'd smile at him, and say his name, and not turn her back and walk away before her husband caught her talkin' to that dirty redneck Dixon. She'd be able to stay and he'd get to hear her say his name over and over, in that tone she used just for him, that gracious, soft voice that made him feel so appreciated. Respected. Even, maybe, admired. Sometimes he'd think of her saying his name at other opportunities, screaming it even, and it felt so good for a time but after he'd feel like he did something to her, something dirty and wrong. She deserved better than a quick, hard fuck against a tree.

He felt cheated by that walker, the one that killed Ed.

When Sophia disappeared into the woods, he thought maybe this was his chance, maybe God set this up so that he could be Carol's hero even though he save her from Ed. Despite failing her, over and over, she never blamed him, never looked at him with anything but gratitude and admiration. It would be easier to be the cause of so much disappointment to her if she'd just slap him for once, just give him what he deserved. If she could hate him for it, instead of looking at him with those big blue eyes like he was her hope. When Sophia came stumbling out of that barn, when he would never again have a chance to be her hero, he watched the first mask settle over her face and adhere to the contours of her cheeks. He watched some of the light die in her eyes and sweetness abandon her lips, and some hopefulness and joy died in him that day too, and there wasn't that much to spare.

Looking back, sometimes he saw it opposite: she took off a mask, didn't put one on. Like the first layer of civilization, whatever it was that bound her in rules and kept her tethered to polite society, maybe that just cracked and broke off that day. Whatever it was, she was even easier for him to read now, even clearer in his sight. And that was always the way after that. Whatever she did or whatever was done to her, whatever happened that made her the inscrutable warrior they all depended on, it all made her as easy to read for him as a walker's trail.

Which didn't mean he always understood her.

"Don't. Jest don't," he said, still bent over, staring at her from under a flap of lank hair. "You're shutting down again. You were back for a second," he rasped, his voice rough from yelling.

She focused on him. She didn't think anyone had noticed. Of course he noticed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes fixed on his. "I was Alexandria Carol for so long, and it was so…difficult. It was too much like…" _Ed_. But while she only felt sorrow now, sadness tinged with relief, for that young bride who went in so hopeful and came out barely alive, the thought of Ed filled him with rage again, and shame. Shame at failing to protect her, shame at being a coward while wanting to be a hero.

"Then why kiss HIM," he shouted, glad to see her wince. He wanted her to hurt just like he did. "You think he _sees_ you? He don't, no more than the rest of them. WHY KISS HIM?"

She slumped down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees. Her filters were slipping, words came out as she thought them without consideration. She trusted Daryl or she wouldn't be here at all, and that trust made her sloppy. "I've thought about this a lot, you know, trying to figure out these impulses I have. Never acted on them since Ed, my best lesson in impulse control, but I've felt them."

She was staring at the wall somewhere near him, but not really seeing that neither. There was so little light in the room, just a thin puddle spreading from the bottom of the door. He was frozen in place, not wanting to break the spell that got her talking, finally.

Her voice was soft but not faltering, there was no doubt. "I'm not proud of the answers, what I think are the answers. I'm not happy to be this way, but I'm not going to feel shame about it either. I kissed him because he wanted me too, and I have a bad habit of doing what men want me to. I kissed him because he noticed me.

"I kissed him because he wanted to kiss me, and that doesn't happen very often. I've never been some boy's first prize, I'm the consolation gift, and I kissed him because no one else has wanted to kiss me in a very long time. It felt good to be wanted." She paused, deep in thought, her face etched with loneliness and it broke his heart to have missed it. Misread it. But he waited. She wasn't done.

"Always kind of had this problem when I was younger, I'd be so grateful for any attention that I'd let a boy do anything he wanted." He wasn't sure if he wanted to puke or smash someone's face. "No, that's not quite right, that makes it sound like I just laid there like a doll, that wasn't it at all. I was very much a willing participant in the moment…usually…" Her brow creased and her voice faltered, and his fingers clenched down on his knees so tight that his knuckles throbbed in protest. She swallowed it down and continued. "But I never understood why I never got flowers from any of them. Never got taken on real dates or, I don't know, _wooed_. Other girls did.

"Here I was, game for anything…hell, I was so desperate for attention that I would have fucked any man who kissed me — and I did — but the men I really wanted? The men that made me stutter and blush but who also seemed decent and kind, like they might treat me good and care if I lived or died? None of them ever did. None of them ever kissed me. They still don't." She trailed off, and he could see she was starting to shake. "Why did I kiss him? He said nice things to me, and despite everything I'm still that girl who thinks that fucking someone is the proper response to a compliment." Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and blinked rapidly, fighting back against the tide. "Huh. I guess I can feel shame after all."

That was it. He couldn't take any more of it, not from her. It was his fault, this whole thing was his fault. All he ever had to do was everything he wanted to do and they would have both been saved years of hurt and loneliness. His own insecurities and doubts were nothing compared to the toxic soup that swirled in her brain, feeding her lie after lie about who she was and what she was worth. He didn't know. He didn't see it. All the times he thought he saw her, he didn't see shit.

"Carol," he croaked, the lump in his throat was strangling him. She looked up, a little shocked to see him still sitting there, and he could see her trying to recall all the things that had just spilled out. "I'm saying this plain," he rasped, his voice steadying as his resolve did. "You ever kiss him or any other man ever again, no matter what they say to you or do for you, and I will shoot them. Maybe not a kill shot, but it won't be pretty neither."

That was anger building up in her and about to froth over the top. She might be sad, and she might be lonely, and she might have her self-esteem worn down to nothing by year's of abuse, but she was still a grown-ass woman who could make her own choices. He didn't move a muscle, just sat there facing her across the room, his chin raised up and his voice steeling itself the longer he spoke. "There I go again, not being clear. I mean to say that if you kiss him, or any other man…besides me."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you to all that took the time to review. I get it now, and I'm going to be much better about posting comments on all the stories I read here because damn if it doesn't help with motivation.**

...

His words hung there, her silence stretching out too long for his comfort. It was too dark in the room to fully make out her expression - at least that's what he kept telling himself otherwise he'd have to accept that she looked furious. But that couldn't be. This should be when they fall into each other's arms, crying and kissing and declarin' undyin' love. Right?

"Daryl?" She didn't sound like Angry Carol, but neither was it her normal voice. The way she said his name was more like a sweet piece of candy sitting on a strange wood and metal contraption outside a mouse hole. His proverbial whiskers twitched but the bait...it smelled so delicious.

"Yeah?" That came out really loud. Too loud. He cringed.

"Let's say for a second that you hadn't happened to be nearby when Tobin and I...had our conversation," she was so calm, but her inability to call it what it was lit a spark in him. _Impossible_ , he thought, _I always know where you are, especially at night._

He remembered what she was like, in the quarry, on the farm, even that first stretch of time in the prison. Physically a little awkward, unsure of herself. Hesitant. That wasn't this Carol. She was on her feet, across the room, and she had the the front of his vest balled up in her fists before he could react. "If you hadn't seen us, would you be saying any of this to me right now?" He'd never heard her shout back in those early days neither, not like this. Not in anger.

Daryl was never really good with unexpected physical interaction, so his mechanism for coping was to get angry right back. "Get off me, woman," he growled at her, standing up to physically force her backwards but she was not taking any of that shit in stride. She held on and pressed forward, keeping him off-balance and wedged against the bed. He felt no small amount of pride at war with annoyance: pride that she'd learned so much about how to handle herself; annoyance that she was using it against him. Annoyance was winning. "I said GET OFF ME."

He didn't mean to push her, not her. Nothing was right about what happened, nothing made sense later when he thought about it. Why would he push her away? Why would he push _Carol_ of all people? But he did. He pushed her and she fell backwards, landing on her butt, and looked up at him from the ground with some unrecognizable expression. Later, it still haunted him, but he thought maybe fear, definitely disgust, and there was something else too that he wasn't sure of. She ignored his efforts to apologize, to help her up, she wouldn't even meet his eye. She picked herself up and was out the door of his room. He heard the front door slam.

He couldn't sleep the rest of the night but was too ashamed to be around other people. He went to the wall and relieved Father Gabriel hours before he was due for watch then stayed up there until past noon. He crashed in his bed until dinner time and almost didn't leave his room even then. He couldn't face her, her looking at him like he was a stranger she had no interest in knowing, but he decided that hiding wouldn't make things right. At dinner, Sasha mentioned Carol had walked out of the house and just kept going, out the gate and into the night. She tried to stop her but Carol was having none of it.

He didn't take the news very well at all.

...

Like anything having to do with the two of them, he couldn't have told anyone why he knew to go to the quarry, he just knew that's where he'd find her. She went on foot, he followed 15 hours later by car, and as he rounded the crest on the road that lead down to the flat area where the equipment was stored, he could see a heap of clothes on top of one of the semi trailers that used to hold back the massive walker herd. There were still a few walkers wandering around, but mostly just bodies.

He stopped the car a bit back, letting it idle. The clothes weren't moving, and that filled him with a sick dread. He retracted the sunroof carefully, and stood up half in, half out, the tension twisting his gut. The heap of clothes finally spoke. "Got any food with you?"

She sounded exhausted but she was alive. That was enough. He pulled the car up close, the grill almost touching the rear end of the trailer and pulled himself up to the roof of the car, dragging his pack and crossbow up behind him, then slid the sunroof partially closed again. It took almost nothing to climb up the back of the semi trailer from there, and he busied himself with digging venison jerky and a couple limp carrots from his pack, sneaking glances at her from under the hair falling into his eyes. "You ain't bit, are ya?"

"Nope." He couldn't be satisfied until she showed him, so with a big sigh she got to her knees and stripped down to a dirty tank top, then redressed her top and started to unbuckle her pants.

"No, no, that's fine. I believe you." The corners of her mouth turned down for just the briefest moment, so short he couldn't have said exactly what her reaction was, then nothing. Stone-faced, she sat up to eat the meat and carrots, but she still hadn't looked at him. Stared everywhere else but at him. "You been here the whole time?"

She sighed again. "Needed to walk, then needed to run. It was dark, so I slept in a tree for a bit, then just kept walking. Found myself here. Seemed appropriate," she said, bitterly.

"Carol…" He had the patience of a hunter, staying perfectly still as some wild thing picked her way through the forest toward him. He was sitting on one leg, and it was going full-on pins and needles but he didn't move. He barely breathed.

"What, Daryl?" Her saying his name, it didn't sound the same. No sweetness, no care.

"I'm sorry." He didn't think he'd ever said anything more true than that, in all his years.

"For what, Daryl?"

"For everything." She could barely hear him, his head was hanging down and he was talking into his knee.

"No, fuck that," the venom in her voice shocked him into looking up at her, and she was sitting back on her haunches staring at him. Her face was stiff with anger and pain. "I need specifics." When he didn't continue, she narrowed her eyes. "What are you sorry for? For shoving me? Knocking me down in anger?" He nodded, ashamed, and she snorted. "For telling me that you'll shoot any man who touches me, but you won't touch me yourself?" His eyebrows shot up. Hadn't thought of it quite like that. "Or are you sorry for dragging out my little confession, having to listen to me talk about what a whore I've been? No? Then maybe you're sorry for waiting until maybe I had a chance at something with someone else, _maybe_ I had an opportunity to feel good for a little while, before staking some kind of claim on me? That's what I really want to know, Daryl. I really want to know whether you would have ever said a goddamn word to me about whatever feelings you seem to be harboring that you've managed to keep to yourself all this time, if I hadn't kissed some other man. What was that? What did you say?"

He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder, not mumbling into his knee like he had been. "I said I never managed to keep anything to myself. Wish I had been able to, but seemed like everyone was always up in my goddamn business, making fun of me for following' you around like a whipped puppy. Hell, even _Carl_ gave me shit over you. Never kept anything to myself, apparently the only one who didn't know was YOU. And I thought you did, Carol. I thought you did and you was just pretending not to so nothin' would change." He sounded so miserable, it was breaking her up inside but she kept telling herself _not this time, this time I'm stone._

A walker was attracted by their loud voices and started banging around and clawing against the side of the truck. They both ignored him. "I'm supposed to believe this, Daryl? You can't even check me for bites without having to look away. You're _disgusted_ by me now. You've never been interested in me like that and anytime I even hinted at something, you'd say stop. The only time you touched me by choice was after Terminus, and I thought for a second that maybe being apart made you feel something. I was so happy for a moment, so glad to be back with my _family_ and so hopeful for such a short time. Then it turns out you were starting something with _Beth_ while I was gone, but I couldn't even get upset about it because she _died_. And you were heartbroken, I could see it plain. Sure you missed me while I was gone but not like her. And I can't compete with that." All the hurt, all the bitter hurt she'd been keeping inside was pouring out, and she couldn't stop it. She was purging all the petty jealousies she'd ever felt, every little drop of hurt that added up to a flood of heartache and rejection. It didn't even matter anymore, there was no reason to keep any of it in. The monster had well and truly slipped his bonds and was stomping on every bit of pride and dignity she had fought so hard to preserve. She would have run away again, if there had been a way to get out, but the number of walkers banging on the metal sides of the trailer was swelling.

She couldn't run away, but she didn't have to look at him. The pain in her gut was too much, and she curled up on her side on the cold metal, facing away from him, wrapping her arms around her midsection and sobbing. It was all just too much to bear, and it was the closest she'd come to losing herself to grief since losing her Sophia. How had she let herself care so much for this man that his rejection could break her?

This was all wrong, all of it, and Daryl was way out of his element. Nothing she had said was true but he could see how it could feel that way. All the things he did to keep himself from getting hurt and being rejected, he put that on her instead. It sickened him that he was the cause of this much pain, he lived his life trying to keep from foisting his own demons on everyone around him, _especially_ her. This was all wrong, and right now she needed him to fix it. Right this moment, she needed him and he had permission to do things differently.

He slid closer to where she lay, pulling a blanket from his pack and wrapping it tight around her. He snaked one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and lifted her towards him while settling back to sit with her sideways, cradled in his lap. He rested her legs on top of his own and dislodged that arm to hug her tightly to him, resting his chin on top of her head and blinking back his own tears as she sobbed in his arms. She hadn't cried like this since that night in the RV when Sophia was still missing. He'd wanted to hold her then, would have given anything to be able to comfort her and take his own comfort from it, but back then he didn't know how. Didn't know _her_. Only understood a fraction of what he felt for this woman.

Her face was buried in her hands resting against his chest. He stroked her hair, whispering over and over "it's always been you. It's only ever been you." He held her like that until her breath stopped hitching and her tears ran out, until she began to stir a bit in his arms, wiping tears and snot from her face with her sleeves. She didn't push away from him though, if anything she pressed closer, resting her cheek against his chest. He kept running his hand in a continuous trail, stroking her hair, her cheek, down her arm, whatever he could reach. Her hand glided up under his vest, gripping the worn fabric of his shirt. He could feel his heartbeat skipping around a bit, speeding up, and he could tell by how she'd move her hand then pause, nuzzle her face against him then pause, that she was listening to it respond to her.

"I don't know how it's possible for you not to know what you do to me," he spoke just above a whisper, a low rumble she could feel in her bones like riding on the back of his bike. "It's like this anytime you're near me, my heart speeds up, I can't seem to get enough air, I get clumsy...and stupid. God knows I get stupid. If I stay away, if I don't touch you, it's because I can't without feeling like I'm going to fall to pieces right there. And it's been like that from the start, first time I saw you in the quarry, the _other_ quarry, I had a physical reaction and I didn't understand it. I felt like a dumb teenager, tongue-tied, and it pissed me off." She snorted, and he squeezed her gently. "Don't laugh at me, woman, you had me in agony. But you had a husband and child, and he was beatin' on you... We were still operating under the old rules then, and even so I almost killed Ed on a dozen different occasions. Merle had to physically restrain me more than once, and half of his obnoxiousness was to draw attention away from me when I'd start losin' my shit. Yeah, he knew damn well what my intentions were, kept telling me that sooner or later Ed would wander far enough from camp and we could be done with him with no one the wiser. It had to appear to be walkers or Deputy Shane would feel obligated to do something about it." He felt his throat tighten a bit thinking about his brother, and his next words came out a little crackly. "He told me what you said to him at the prison, about bein' underestimated and slittin' his throat in his sleep if he messed things up for me. He was in awe of you, you know?"

He tilted his head back a bit when he said that, looking into her face to see her reaction, see if she believed him. Her eyes were closed but she had a little smile, she wouldn't admit it openly but he knew she was fond of Merle from the start and Merle considered her to be the only "real lady" in the camp. He warned Daryl at the prison that if he didn't get his head out of his ass, Merle was going to steal Carol away from him. He didn't tell her that, didn't want to have to relive Merle's death and how it set him back so far that he couldn't barely function. _Especially_ with her since all he wanted to do when she was near was collapse in her arms and cry like a baby, have her hold him close and stroke his hair and whisper soft words of comfort, but he didn't want her to see him like that, weak and snivelly.

"Is that what you think I am right now? Weak and snivelly?" She broke through his reverie and realization dawned that he'd been talking out loud.

"Oh lord no," he sighed, feeling foolish. "I wouldn't have been neither given all that we've been through. Old rules, right?" She nodded, sniffed a little, then closed her eyes and settled back against him. He felt something ripple, deep in his gut, like going fast down a steep hill. He thought he might be willing to do _anything_ to feel that again, and all she did was rest her cheek against his chest.

"Keep talking, Daryl. You owe me about another year's worth of explanation, and we aren't going anywhere until I'm satisfied." The way she said that, the way she lingered a bit on _satisfied_ , his gut did another flip and slide. He had to brace himself against the swell of feeling rushing through him, he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, the muscles in his arms knotting up under the tension of holding perfectly still, restraining himself from squeezing her tight against him, tearing at her clothes, biting the curve of her shoulder, thrusting...hard... But the way she looked at him when he pushed her down, that sobered him up right quick and he was able to relax and hold her without hurting her. His breathing was only a little ragged.

She was relentless. "Talk, Daryl, I mean it. Because I have something to say when you're done and I'm tired of waiting to say it." It sounded so ominous, he wasn't even sure how to react. He couldn't take it if she said she was going away without him or wanted him to leave her alone. _Not after this, not after all of this_. She opened her eyes and peered up at him, eyebrows cocked in a question that she didn't seem to like the answer to because she sighed and pulled herself up, peeling away from him, saying "Beth."

She shook her head, continuing "I get it. Beth and you...like I said, I could see your heart break when you carried her out of that hospital to Maggie..." Not even looking at him, pulling away physically, emotionally, putting up her walls and blocking him out.

"STOP," he said, tightening his grip to force her back against him, "goddammit just stop talkin'. You don't know nothin'" He was getting angry, the idea of her leaving him - even if her body stayed in Alexandria, she'd still be lost to him - it was making him sick and his head was starting to hurt, and there was a reddish haze around the edges of his vision. "There wasn't nothin' between Beth and me, not like that, not really. I fuckin' watched her grow up for chrissakes. But she and I were all that was left as far as either of us knew, we thought everyone else was _dead_ and goddammit, YOU HAD LEFT ME THERE. You never said a fucking _word_ , you never tried to come back, you just LEFT when Rick told you to go." He was so angry he was spitting, his face was suffused with blood and she had seen this look a million times on Ed but Daryl's arms never once became uncomfortably tight, his hands never formed fists, and he never looked at her with hate in his eye. She wasn't afraid of Daryl. "Yeah it crossed my mind to set up house with her and try to keep going, she was a beautiful person through and through and I would have been a lucky man to have been the one to keep her safe and make her happy." His rage was overwhelmed by his grief, and he was choking on it. "But I couldn't keep her safe, not even for a few days, no different from you or Merle or... _Sophia_."

She let him cry, surprised at the tears streaming down her own cheeks after thinking nothing was left. She didn't try to hold him but let him hold her, let him have something real to hold onto that he wasn't going to lose. All he wanted was to protect them all, would do anything - _give up anything_ \- to protect the things and people that mattered. She laid in his arms, curled up against his chest, and let him keep her safe.

...

 **AN, part 2: Pretty much after this point, the story went in an unexpected direction. I am still undecided about what to do with the next/final chapter. I keep rereading it and thinking that it's just a slight curve, not a complete left turn, but maybe I'm biased? I had to let this one percolate a bit, maybe that will help.**


	3. Chapter 3

AN: The season 6 finale killed my motivation, so I decided to just post the final chapter as-is from when I originally wrote it. It might be a sharp turn but better some kind of resolution than making someone wait for months at a time, dreading what might come next. Know what I mean?

...

It was late, full dark, when she felt him begin to wake. They were lying together, her back against his front, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. She couldn't remember ever feeling so warm and comfortable and secure, not since the Turn and certainly not with Ed, despite the hard steel roof of the semi trailer beneath them, the cold night air, and the growls and hisses of the dead still clawing at the trailer below. He'd cried himself out, they both had, but never once let go of her as he settled them down with his pack as their pillow, the blanket he had wrapped her in finding its way over both of them. Her entire length was pressed back against him and she fit perfectly, his chin resting on the top of her head, one arm tucked underneath her and the other draped over her loosely, his hand resting on her hip. Their legs were intertwined, his knee thrust between hers and her foot hooked around his ankle.

She dozed a bit, enjoying their closeness, enjoying knowing that this was Daryl, her Daryl, who held her like his life depended on it, but she never fully succumbed to the lure of sleep. Too much on her mind. She was dreading what she had to say next, certain that she knew what his reaction would be.

He sighed, contentedly, and gave her hip a squeeze. "I love you, you know," he whispered, "I don't know when it happened but I know exactly the moment when I realized it. When you pulled that fuckin' grenade out of your purse and saved us all." She could feel him smiling, _hear_ it in his voice. She loved when he smiled. She wanted to say it back, her own feelings for him went back almost as far, but she couldn't tie him to her so completely until he knew everything.

"Daryl, I need to explain something to you and I'd like to think it won't change anything but I can't..."

"No, don't say anything," he interrupted, "there's nothing you can say that changes anything and I don't need to know, I just DON'T." He started to release her, to sit up and face her, but she held his arms and pressed back against him, using her entire body to hold him in place.

"Daryl, please, please just let me explain...I can't...you need to understand. You deserve to know everything, to make up your own mind about me, about us, and I need you to lie still and let me tell you this without being able to see your face." _Because I couldn't stand to see it when your feelings towards me change._ He stopped trying to sit up or turn her towards him, but his hand on her hip gripped her a little more firmly and his other arm curled up, pressing her even closer against him, his hand splayed possessively over her abdomen and his fingertips just barely brushing the underside of her breasts. She caught her breath, then let it out in a ragged sigh. "No fair," she muttered, and she felt more than heard his rumbling chuckle.

She didn't move or speak for so long that he hoped maybe she'd fallen asleep, but he knew from the mounting tension in her body that she was still very much awake. He wanted, _badly_ , to kiss the back of her neck, to taste her skin and run his tongue down her spine, rolling her towards him to...

"Thank you for respecting my wishes and giving me time to compose my thoughts. I know this isn't easy for you. I'm trying not to make it into something bigger than it is, I just don't have a whole lot of perspective on the matter to know what it might mean to you. To know whether you will think less of me for what I'm about to say," her voice was soft but steady, almost relieved to finally unburden herself and stop imagining the consequences. "Last night, when we were...fighting, I came at you physically and you pushed back."

He'd forgotten. With everything else that had happened, he'd forgotten how he'd pushed her down. _No better than Ed,_ he thought, filling up mind and body with nausea, every muscle knotting up. _How could I have forgotten what I did?_

"DARYL, STOP," she jammed her elbow into the ropy muscle of his gut, hard enough that he grunted, but it worked. It broke him out of the rabbit hole he was plunging down. "You need to listen to what I'm saying, not what you think I _should_ be saying, because you're wrong. What happened, that wasn't like Ed, and it wasn't what you thought." She was talking fast, her well-rehearsed internal monologue going to hell in the face of his reaction. She should have anticipated it but somehow didn't. "I didn't run away because I was scared of you or angry or anything like that. I didn't run away from _you_ at all, I ran away because I saw your face and I knew you'd be hating yourself for hurting me or even _almost_ hurting me in anger. And I didn't think I could tell you any of this because I didn't think you...loved me." She was talking so fast then just slowed to the pace of a heartbeat on the last words, her voice filled with wonder at the very idea, at being able to say that to him and know it to be true, not a wish or a hope or a dream but a _truth_. To be able to acknowledge it, out loud to him and not fear a denial, a cruel rejection.

"Daryl, I'm not wired right, never have been. Just like people don't choose to be gay - no, shut up, I'm not saying I'm gay nor am I implying gay people aren't _wired right_ so don't start defending Aaron and Eric because I'm not attacking them - I'm saying that just like gay people are wired differently than straight people and don't have a choice in who they love or what they desire no more than any straight person does, I am also wired differently," she paused. "...But in my case I think it really is bad."

She shrunk a little, she folded in on herself and her muscles tensed as she tried to confess her sins to him. He didn't move, not even to breathe, she was a doe again in a deep forest, skittish and vulnerable, not realizing a hunter lurked nearby with her in his sights. He couldn't risk startling her, he wasn't ready to make the shot.

"I didn't run from you because you hurt me - and you didn't hurt me, not really - I ran from you because I wanted you to hurt me more.

"No, don't say anything, not yet. It's not self-loathing, it's not because I think I deserve it, or because Ed messed with my head even though he did make it something shameful. I ended up with Ed because of this...predilection, but it was something I felt long before I met him. When I said I slept with any man who showed interest in me, that was true, but it wasn't the whole truth. I slept with them...I _fucked_ them, because I kept getting so...goddamn...close...to feeling _right_ but never quite made it across the finish line. The only one who came close was Ed, but it was never good. He hurt me out of malice, never for pleasure." She wanted so badly to see his face, to gauge his reaction to everything she said, but she was also terrified at the prospect. He couldn't possibly understand this. He couldn't possibly feel anything other than disgust, maybe pity, but more likely loathing at the sickness she spread to his brain, tainting everything he thought and felt toward her.

She wanted him to just leave now, no words spoken, so that she could mourn the loss of the love of her life in peace. She could maybe get past the loss and be in the same room with him, maybe even speak to him or look upon his beloved face, without shattering when he moved away, when he spoke to her with revulsion in his voice, or when his face turned away from the monster she had become.

She closed her eyes and barely breathed, thinking _not this time. I am stone._ "Carol," his whisper was strangled, desperate. "Are you fucking with me?"

...

She tried to roll over at that point, she needed to see his face, to understand what he meant, but his fingers gripped down on her hip and held her still. His other arm tightened, and his fingertips traced a deliberate line across her breasts as he caught the delicate rim of her ear between his teeth. He tugged, gently, biting down just enough so she felt the pinch, then released it.

"You better not be fucking with me," he growled in her ear sending ripples - apprehension...anticipation - through her body. "Because then you wouldn't like what I'm planning to do to you, and I want you to like it. I want you to beg me for it." He released her hip and trailed his hand idly up her side, lingering on her shoulder.

"Remember the day we cleared out the prison yard the first time? That night, I rubbed your shoulder and you teased me, asked me if I wanted to fool around. Threw me off. When I was rubbing your shoulder, I was picturing bending your arm up behind you, forcing you down to ground behind the bus and fucking you fast and hard from behind while the rest of them sat 20 feet away. I wanted to bite down, right on this spot here," she moaned as he traced circles on the tender place just beside the joint before dipping his head down and resting his open mouth right on the spot. She could feel his teeth against her skin, vaguely aware that at least three layers had covered that area not moments before. He lifted his mouth slightly, lips still on her skin, "You best not be joking about this because I have fought against my impulses with you since the moment we met, and you can't shut this door once you've opened it.

"You think you're wired wrong?" He continued, forcing his knee up between her thighs and stroking her through the fabric. She squirmed, pressing her ass back against the erection straining against his pants and he groaned. He tried again: "You think you're wired wrong? Try being a man who wants to hurt the woman he loves, a battered wife no less. Who wants to protect her and take care of her and then do things to her that could cause permanent damage. My god, we lived in a fucking _prison_ with all those evenly spaced metal bars, the bunks bolted to the floor, all the cages... I had dreams of keeping you chained up in one of the remote rooms, naked and waiting just for me, so I could _use_ you whenever I wanted, however I wanted, and you couldn't stop me." He undid the top two buttons on her fly and slipped a hand down her pants, stroking her outer lips through her panties with one finger. "I wanted to tie you to the bars of your cell, string you up so you had to stand on your tip-toes or it would cut off your breathing then wrap your legs around my waist and pound you against the bars. I'd pull back so that your arms would have to bend backwards and the rope would cut off your air, and once you were close to passing out I'd resume fucking you and you'd have no ability to fight back or stop me." He dipped his fingers in the hot wetness of her snatch, then rubbed her clitoris roughly. "Lately though, I've mostly been dreaming about fucking your beautiful mouth then coming all over that goddamn. Floral. Cardigan." She started to buck against his hand, her ass slamming painfully against his engorged cock. Hit bit down on her shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin but there would definitely be a mark, and it sent her jetting over the edge.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip as spasms wracked her and she jerked against him. He rolled her forward onto her stomach, one arm still trapped beneath her and a hand cupping her breasts, squeezing, before sliding it out and dragging her shirt and tank up over her head, twisting the fabric so it trapped her arms. He knelt next to her, running his fingertips over the smooth muscles of her back then digging his fingers into her sides and yanking her up onto her knees, face pressed down into her tangled arms. He leaned down, lapping his tongue up her spine and letting the rough stubble on his chin scrape her as he went. She moaned, spurring him on. He bit her again on the shoulder, same place, not as hard but the original bite still smarted and it sent a shot of pain that hit its target right in her groin. He bent her sideways a bit so that her ear was close to his mouth, licked her ear and said, "I'm going to fuck you now, and I probably won't last long. I'm going to try to pull out so I can come on your back, so I can mark my territory, but I may change my mind about that. Don't matter, here on out, your body is MINE."

She didn't think it was necessary to say anything, her agreement was implicit.

She felt him slide his hands down her hips, bunching her pants down around her knees, then scrape his ragged nails up the tender skin of her ass. He was behind her, one hand probing between her thighs, shoving one then two fingers into her as she gasped and groaned. She felt him fumbling with his own clothes, fingers spreading her open, then the head of his cock pushing into her. He filled her up then waited, panting, fingers digging into her hips, then began to thrust into her in uneven strokes that grew harder and faster, and she came again from the friction and the idea of what was happening here. _This is Daryl. Daryl is fucking me. Daryl._ He was making sounds, desperate sounds, trying to hold back but failing as he came in a gush inside her. He fell against her and they both collapsed flat in a sweaty heap of limbs with him still trapped inside her. She squeezed her thighs, holding him in place, and he chuckled, using one hand to ease him self out and the other to support his weight as he moved off her. She made a mewling sound, eyes closed, already missing the feeling of being joined to him. That earned a genuine laugh, and she marveled at how...intimate it felt. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, he pulled her into is his arms and stroked her face, nuzzling her hair and placing gentle kisses on her head, forehead, temple. He untwisted her clothing, freeing her arms, rubbing the ridged flesh where her bindings had been particularly tight.

"I love you too," she whispered, opening her eyes and looking into his. "Didn't think I'd ever be able to say that to you, didn't think you'd want me to if you knew me." He nodded, not smiling, his gaze intense. She caught her breath, _that's all it takes, he just has to look at me and I'm undone,_ then pulled his face down to hers and pressed her lips against his.

It was their first kiss, and it was everything either one of them ever hoped for or wanted. It was deep and long and set them both aflutter, and was a genuine happily-ever-after kiss in the fucked up fairy tale they found each other in. Whatever happened, from here on out, they had each other.


End file.
